A Friend of the Family (15 page)

‘I've never felt better in my life. Is George well?'

‘Yes, he is.'

Recognising and understanding Thea's hostility, Felicity was overcome by remorse and, overwhelmed as she was by her own happiness, longed to put things right.

‘Look, Thea,' she began, tentatively. Apologies had never been much in Felicity's line.

Thea, seeing that she was having difficulties and knowing that she need no longer fear her, smiled a little. ‘Spit it out,' she said encouragingly.

‘I want to apologise for my behaviour. It was unforgivable to say what I did on the telephone. It wasn't true, you know. I wanted to hurt you because George rejected me.'

‘I know.' Even now Thea frowned a little as she remembered the pain. ‘George told me everything.'

‘Did he? Then try to forgive me. When he met you, he tore me up and threw me away. After twenty years. It was very hard, you know.'

‘It must have been. I'm sorry.' Thea smiled again. ‘You look happy. I hope you are.'

‘Oh, I am. Very happy.'

Felicity shook her head as if in bewilderment at her own happiness and Thea started to laugh. On an impulse the two women hugged each other.

‘We'll get together soon,' said Felicity. ‘Must dash. Someone's waiting for me. Give my love to George.'

‘Yes. I will.' Thea watched her hurry away, still puzzled.

Felicity's heart felt full to overflowing. Everybody could be encompassed in this great love that she had found. She felt that she had discovered the secret of life and now she would never let it go.

 

Fifteen

 

POLLY STARED AT PAUL
across the kitchen table. He was preparing to go on a field trip and her idly expressed wish to accompany him had caused an outburst of irritation which seemed to her to be out of all proportion. Her remark had been only half serious and his reaction surprised her. He pointed out that they had discussed it when they first knew that he was going and she had said quite categorically that she didn't enjoy tagging along on these occasions. Resenting his tone and more to annoy than anything else, Polly said that she thought she might change her mind, and Paul had been moved to comment in a rather outspoken and unflattering way about her mental inconsistencies and abilities.

Now, as she stared at him, he exhaled in exaggerated self-pitying exasperation and stood up. ‘Well?' His expression as he looked down at her was one of impatience.

She regarded him dispassionately. How silly and portentous he looked, as though he were a schoolmaster awaiting an explanation from some recalcitrant pupil. Polly felt a wave of dislike which almost bordered on contempt. She felt an urge to fling the contents of her mug all over his shirt front, to slap the faintly sneering lip, to jump up and down on his feet, screaming.

‘Fiona will be here at any moment to collect me,' he said. There was an edge of anxiety now. ‘What are you going to do? We shan't be able to wait for you, I'm afraid. You'll have to drive yourself over. I don't know where you'll stay at this late date. It's the end of August and the place will be packed.'

Polly continued to look at the long narrow face with its ill-humoured expression. His reddish hair was beginning to thin and she had the startling idea that she was looking at a stranger.

I don't like you a bit, she thought. In fact, I hate you. At this minute I actually hate you. Go and do your silly insect-hunting. I hope you fall in Slapton Ley and drown yourself. And Fiona.

‘Oh, I was only joking,' she said casually, wishing that the veneer of civilisation that buried atavistic instinct hadn't prevented the outburst of violence that she had contemplated and would have enjoyed. ‘I should be bored rigid.'

She noted the relief in his eyes but, as he drew breath to answer, a car horn sounded. Polly raised her eyebrows. ‘Fiona,' she stated. ‘Mustn't keep her waiting. Better hurry along.'

Paul's lips thinned a little at her tone and then, with a shrug, he went into the hall and picked up his case. Polly followed behind. ‘Don't come out,' he said. ‘I'll see you on Sunday.'

He kissed her quickly and hurried down the path. Polly saw an arm stretch across to open the door and watched Paul throw his case on to the back seat. As he got into the passenger seat his face was wreathed in smiles and he did not look back or wave. Polly made a rude face at the disappearing car, shut the door and wandered back to the kitchen, wondering what to do with the days that lay ahead. Schubert was Composer of the Week and she stood listening to a string quartet whilst she drank the rest of her coffee and tried not to think about Fiona, Paul's research assistant. She'd met her once and hadn't really taken a great interest in her. She was quiet and serious, quite pretty, and absolutely immersed in her work with Paul. Just lately, however, Polly had heard her name more frequently on Paul's lips and had begun to take notice. It was when he told her that Fiona was driving him to Slapton while the others were going in the minibus with the equipment that she had been led to make her rash remark. His reaction had been interesting and Polly continued to brood on it with part of her mind while she decided how to spend the day. She knew that Harriet and Michael had taken Hugh upcountry to visit Michael's parents and
would be away for a fortnight and she didn't like to bother Thea, who was now very involved in getting the book ready for her publisher. Her friend Suzy, who lived a few doors away, was heavily pregnant and could talk about nothing but this great event and Polly simply didn't feel up to another in-depth discussion on the merits of breastfeeding.

She roamed upstairs and stared out of the bedroom window. The quiet cul-de-sac, which was a short walk from the campus, was tree-lined, the small front gardens of the semi-detached Victorian villas containing the usual quota of lilac and forsythia bushes whose leaves were now a faded dusty green. It was a soft grey day and suddenly she felt profoundly depressed. It seemed as though she were the only person in the world with no aims, no purpose, no point. Even the responsibilities which should have been hers had been delegated to Mrs Bloge.

I'm twenty-six years old, she thought. What am I going to do with the rest of my life?

She saw herself standing at this same window as the years slipped gently past and the thought filled her with a profound panic which she couldn't analyse. After all, her future might look boring but it was hardly frightening. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted and to calm herself she tried to see her life rationally and merely recalled Paul's expression when she said she'd like to go with him to Slap-ton. She tried to remember why she had fallen so madly in love with him and what had made her rush into marriage with him within weeks of passing her finals. It seemed now that they had so little in common and yet, at the time, his serious detachment from the daily round had fascinated her and her lighthearted, easy-going attitude had charmed him. She was reading English and Drama and, after their first meeting, they began to bump into each other, to meet at parties, aware of a mutual attraction, until at last Paul invited her to a dinner party given by a friend and she had returned the compliment by taking him to a production at the Northcott Theatre. She was flattered by the attention of a senior lecturer who was doing so
well in his field and he mistook her enthusiasm for his subject for a genuine interest rather than the result of the first flush of infatuation.

After a year or two of marriage they had settled into a pattern. He remained immersed in his work and she was contented with her quiet round, visiting friends, going to concerts, reading. It was Thea who had sowed the seed of discontent, jolted her out of her pleasant rut. She had made Polly feel dissatisfied, as though she were missing out on something. But what to do about it? She had considered getting a job. She might find something in the university which was the obvious place to try. She imagined herself getting up each morning and hurrying off with Paul to spend her day in the library or one of the offices and the thought filled her with lassitude. Why should it be more fulfilling to do an indifferent job than to do exactly as one pleased all day? Of course, to do something that one really loved, as Thea was, would be quite different. But what would she really like to do? Nothing leaped to mind. After a bit she tried to see herself as a mother. She had watched Harriet and Suzy going through the process without the least twinge of broodiness or envy and imagined herself to be entirely lacking in maternal instinct. And now that scene with Paul had unsettled her further. Why should he be so reluctant to have her around for the week? She felt quite certain that it wasn't simply because it might be difficult to find somewhere for her to stay. The old Paul wouldn't have bothered about that. He would have left it for her to arrange and told her vaguely that he'd see her later.

Sighing deeply, Polly turned away from the window. Depression threatened to swamp her and she experienced the desire to crawl back into bed, hide under the quilt and weep gently, quietly, copiously. Or on the other hand, she could bawl loudly and messily and smash every breakable object in sight.

‘PMT,' she told herself sternly and went back downstairs.

As she reached the bottom stair the telephone began to ring. She snatched it up with relief.

‘Hello, Polly. I hope you don't mind me ringing. It's Freddie.'

‘Freddie!' Her surprise sounded in her voice. ‘How nice. How are you?'

Freddie, who had been in terror that she might say ‘Who?' felt his heart bound with joy. ‘I'm fine. Fine. And you?'

‘Fearfully fed up. Suicidal. Paul's gone off on some insect hunt and I'm all alone for a week.'

Freddie could scarcely believe his luck. He swallowed once or twice and cleared his throat. ‘The thing is,' he lied, ‘I've got to pick up the books I ordered from Waterstone's. I wondered if you might be free for a bite to eat or something. I hope you don't think it's a cheek or anything . . . '

‘It'd be wonderful,' Polly assured him. ‘I'd love it. I was wondering what on earth to do with myself. Shall I meet you in Coolings?'

‘That would be marvellous. Say twelve thirty? Would that suit you?'

‘Perfect. See you then.'

Polly, her spirits rising, put down the receiver. Her anxiety about her marriage and plans for her future could be postponed for another day, possibly indefinitely, and she ran back up the stairs to change into something suitable for a lunch date.

 

TIM, DRIVING AT SPEED
down the M5, could hardly wait to get home. He wondered now how he could have lived in Dallas for two whole years and his one thought was to get back to his inheritance. Tim was a very English man, a fact that had only truly occurred to him when he met David and Miranda at the party in Dallas. To hear David's Old Wykehamist vowels and to see Miranda's fair English prettiness was, for Tim, a revelation. They represented all that he had been separated from and he suddenly knew just how terribly he had missed it. Miranda—dressed from top to toe in Laura Ashley—had a shy reserve which charmed him at once and he sensed her relief when she realised he was English.

It had been good to go back to America with the fact of Broadhayes solidly behind him and Miranda at his side. Everyone had been delighted
for him and Miranda had been made much of and looked after by colleagues' wives whilst he was working. They were staying with Tim's boss and his wife and subtly, accepted by them both without words, they became an official ‘couple', neither denying the prospect of a wedding in due course, and accepting the hints and gentle allusions. Miranda was impressed to see that Tim was well thought of and much liked and, although one or two of the younger wives treated him with a proprietorial affection which she resented, there was no talk of girlfriends or anything that implied a libertine temperament. Her mother had brought her up to despise lax morals to an excessive extent. Miranda was enough her mother's daughter to have held these opinions without the added underlining and emphasis to which she was continually exposed. She loved her father but was wary and watchful of him lest he should slip. There had been several such moments and Miranda, schooled by her mother to regard niceness as weakness and kindness as foolishness, had no idea what it must be like for one of David's character to live under such a regime.

Tim, blithely unaware—as David had been before him—of the iron will beneath the pretty shy exterior, blessed his good fortune and his grandmother's generosity. It was wonderful to be going back to Devon with Miranda at his side. He had no fears at all about his ability to earn his living, especially with Grandmother's money tucked away to help out until he really got going. His spirits soared as they turned on to the A30 just west of Exeter.

‘Nearly home,' he said and reached out to squeeze Miranda's hand. ‘How do you feel to be coming back to Devon?'

It occurred to him that she'd been rather quiet and if he'd thought about it at all he'd put it down to a natural weariness. It would never have dawned on him that it was because he had been overhelpful and friendly to an attractive young mother at Heathrow who had been struggling with a young baby at the carousel. Tim had leaped forward to assist, leaving Miranda to deal with their luggage, and she had been unable to overcome her resentment at his ready charm and the young woman's obvious response. Tim hadn't even noticed and, by the time
they were through Customs and had struggled out to the car, his thoughts were already far ahead.

Miranda reasoned with herself. Tim's love and good opinion were too precious to risk and, after all, he'd simply been helping the woman. Later, when they were married, she could point out the unwisdom of being too friendly and creating the wrong impression so that people, women especially, took advantage. She was aware of the pressure of Tim's hand and the fact that he was glancing at her, concerned by her silence.

‘I was thinking of Daddy,' she said mendaciously. ‘Staying all this time with Felicity.'

They'd been through it several times, ever since they'd been unable to get a reply from Broadhayes when they telephoned to tell David they would be delayed. It was Tim who'd insisted that they telephone Felicity and Miranda had been horrified to learn that David had decided to stay with her, quite beside herself worrying about what awful temptations he would be led into with a woman of Felicity's reputation. Tim had finally succeeded in calming her and since, short of her returning alone, there was nothing Miranda could do she had made the best of it.